The End Of The Detective
by Scarlett Red Rose
Summary: What if Mrs. Hudson and Watson hadn't reached Holmes in time in GATD? Spoilers for GATD and character death ahead!


A/N: Spoilers are ahead for those who haven't read Going After The Detective.  Possibly some confusion as well.  I don't own anyone except Scott and the former police officer but they won't let me lay any credit to them anyway. ;)

* * *

The End Of The Detective 

"Mrs. Hudson would never have married you!"  "Ah, but my dear Sherlock, she did.  I promised I'd come back for her and I'm keeping my promise true."  "So all your life you've been living a lie!"

"Not so, Mr. Holmes, I was honest when I said Mr. Colmes murdered himself…with a gun to his head.  The poor man hung himself and _I_ kicked the stool and made up my story, lovely tale wasn't it?"  He pulled out his pocket watch.  "Your friends have one minute before the nightmare of William Sherlock Scott Holmes' death becomes a reality."

Two guns and no way to get to my own.

What was I going to do?

* * *

I glanced at Martha beside me.  "Hurry John!  We have to make it, I know he's in there!"  "How do you know?" I yelled back at her.  "Just trust me!  I know Scott and he killed Mr. Colmes to get Mr. Holmes trapped!  We have to reach him!  Oh, and by the way, that was a good way of getting rid of the driver."  I grinned.  I had been inching my way towards the driver and at the last instant knocked the gun out of his hand.  I had aimed his own gun at him and he had run away into the forest screaming.  Now if only we reached Holmes in time…

* * *

"Forty-five seconds…" Scott called out.  He leveled the gun a bit.

* * *

We weren't even halfway up the path.  Why, I wondered, hadn't we decided to borrow the hansom, it would have been easier.  Because you don't think well in a hurry Martha, I reminded myself.  I trudged to upwards and thought I saw a movement in the kitchen window at the side of the house.  The road turned a bend then and I called up the John.  "John, use the back way!  Go in the back door!"

* * *

"Fifteen seconds…" I looked at him, trying to figure a way out of my predicament.

There was none.

* * *

We reached the back door.  It was locked.  "Dang!"  I pulled and pushed at the door but it was too secure.  If it didn't give in soon we would be too late to save Holmes.

* * *

"Ten seconds…" I smiled.  Revenge would be mine at last!

* * *

"Watson, can't you pick the lock," Martha hissed in my ear.  "They'll hear you for sure if you keep up the racket you're going at now!"  "We have nothing to pick the lock with," I hissed back.

* * *

"Five…four…three…" I was doomed.

* * *

"We're not going to make it," I yelped.  Mr. Holmes was going to die and there was nothing we could do to stop it.

* * *

"Two…" I closed my eyes, never even noticing how close I had been to being saved.  It was the end.

* * *

"One!"  Scott aimed the gun and fired.  I staggered backward and my eyes flew open as I gasped.  "The darn man doesn't die," I heard someone say.  "Do it again."  Another bullet rammed into me full force and I sank to the ground.  An enormous bang echoed into my head and I groaned in agony.  Someone yelled something intelligible and the sound of running feet and breaking glass clouded my senses before I became aware of a hand.

"Holmes?  Holmes can you hear me?"  Watson?  But how…

"I'm…here Watson," I managed to choke out.  "Barely."

My vision swam and refocused itself on the face in front of me.  Wait, there was another.  "Mrs. Hudson?"

"I'm here Mr. Holmes."  Her hand grasped mine and I became aware that Watson had hold of the other.  "So this is the end," I murmured.  "The great Sherlock Holmes bested...by the son of his own worst enemy.  Watson," Suddenly my mind started working again and I thought of others, not only myself.  "Tell Mycroft…I love him, he was the best brother a man could have, and also to relay my love to any other relatives we might have…still living."  A small coughing fit came and I knew that the end loomed nigh.

"Mrs. Hudson, thank you…for putting up with me…it was a great pleasure to have known so kind a woman."  She fought back tears and whispered.  "It was a pleasure to have known the world's best detective.  You will be missed."  I smiled faintly and turned to Watson.  Mrs. Hudson stood up and walked into the next room.  She seemed to understand my hidden wish of saying a private farewell to my Boswell.

"My dear Watson, you were the greatest friend a man could ever have had.  You've kept me humble and helped me to understand how minds…unlike my own work.  You banished the shade of loneliness growing about my heart and for all this and more I thank you…" My vision darkened for a long moment and Watson seemed to think I was gone.  "I'm…still here…Watson.  I can never…truly leave…people so like…my family…you _are_ my family…" With my words ringing in my ears my nightmares surrounded me in darkness.

* * *

* * *

            We had the funeral three days later.  It was a very private ceremony with only Martha, myself, and Mycroft to witness it.  Just as Holmes would have wanted it.  It was cloudy that day, almost as if Holmes was sad that he couldn't be with us.

            My worst nightmare had turned into reality and I knew this time he couldn't return from the grave.  He was in it for good this time.

            The ceremony ended and we left.

* * *

            Later that evening, I picked up a bit of my published writing and began to read it.

_            "…Pray give my greetings to Mrs. Watson, and believe me to be, my dear fellow Very sincerely yours, SHERLOCK HOLMES…_

_            "…It is due to those injudicious champions who have endeavored to clear his memory by attacks upon him whom I shall ever regard as the best and the wisest man whom I have ever known."_

            My eyes misted over slightly.  He could never come back now.

            I was continuing on this train of thought when a hand clamped onto my shoulder and a voice spoke strong in my ear.

            "Up Watson!  On with your clothes and up!  The game is afoot!"  The hand released me and as I whirled I could have sworn that I caught the ghostly end of Holmes' long gray traveling-cloak.  I smiled.

            "Cry God for Harry!  England, and Saint Gorge," I whispered into the night.

* * *


End file.
